


poems i wrote during the apocalypse because my mind is dark but the world is darker

by 9FoxTails



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandonment, Abuse of italics, Abusive Relationships, Angel Wings, Angels, Bad Poetry, Coming of Age, Demons, Emotional Hurt, Fire, Healthy Relationships, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Inspired by The Fall of Icarus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Ocean, Pain, Poetry, Psychological Trauma, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Religion, Water, Why Did I Write This?, Wings, describing people without using normal means, descriptions of dreams, i DONT remember writing this????, tears as wine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:41:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9FoxTails/pseuds/9FoxTails
Summary: read the label, thanks
Kudos: 2





	1. Icarus

_ Here's what they don't tell you:  _

Icarus  _ wanted _ to fall. To laugh as he fell. Throwing his head back and yelling into the winds, arms spread wide, teeth bared to the world. Smiling with a mouth full of bloody teeth as he fell from the sky to join the oceans roar. 

_ There is a bitter triumph in crashing when you should be soaring.  _

Icarus smiled as he felt Apollo burn his wings. Laughing as they melted, wax scorching his skin, running blazing trails down his back, his thighs, his ankles, his feet. Feathers floating past his fingers like prayers, close enough to snatch back. The wax burning his skin forever in a display of pride. 

Icarus wanted to be  _ free _ , to leave the steel cage of the Earth. Maybe he was a young boy high on euphoria and fear as Apollo kissed his wings and sent him back. 

Icarus' eyes sparkled with tears as he watched the sun shrink, painting everything in shades of gold. And Icarus fell, fingers reaching for the edge of Apollos garments as he  _ burned _ . 

Perhaps Apollo  _ let _ him fall. Kissing his wings with sunsoaked lips, and burning him into a legend, so that he may forever hold him in a kinder world. 

_ There is a certain beauty in setting the world on fire and watching from the center of the flames.  _

And when Icarus stood before the Judges, the Fates, whomever, and they asked him if it was worth it to fall, Icarus grinned, accepted his fate and left them baffled, in awe, 

"It will  _ always _ be worth it to fly. "

...

_ But maybe when Icarus received his eternal punishment, he realized that touching the sun, the sky, the wind, wasn't all he thought it'd be. _


	2. Girls With Wildfires in Their Veins

Girls with wildfires in their veins shouldn't play with boys made of wax. 

They melt _far_ _too easy_ under wandering fingers and leave far too easy for someone who can be molded a million times over and still remain themselves. 

  
  
  


Girls with wildfires in their veins shouldn't play with boys made of wood. 

They burn _far too easily_ under gentle lips for someone who can withstand a thousand storms and live for thousands of years. 

  
  
  


Girls with wildfires in their veins shouldn't play with boys made of glass. 

They melt _far too easy_ under sheets of brimstone and _break_ far too easy for someone who was born from the sand that the sea held in her powerful embrace for millions of years. 

  
  
  


Girls with wildfires in their veins _can_ play with boys made of stone. 

Boys made of stone won't melt under wandering fingers, or break under gentle lips or sheets of brimstone. Boys made of stone can withstand, _contain_ , and _maintain_ the roaring flames inside girls made of wildfires. 

  
  
  


Girls with wildfires in their veins should befriend girls born from the sea. 

Girls born from the sea can temper the raging fires in girls of flame, just as girls of flame can embrace girls whose flesh has seen darkness at the bottom of calm oceans. 

  
  
  


But girls with wildfires in their veins shouldn't play with boys made of wax. 


	3. I'm In Love With the Sea

I'm in love with the sea. 

I'm in love with the how every wave sparkles in both sun and moonlight. 

How the gentle seafoam is the most spectacular shade of green that no artist can capture quite right. 

I'm in love with the sound of it crashing against cliffs. 

  
  
  


And I'm in love with the way that it reminds me that, one day, I will number among the waves gently caressing the shore. 

In love with the fact that one day I will be as free as the ocean, who can never be held back. 

I'm in love with the freedom of the sea. 

  
  



	4. Somewhere On This Earth

There is a boy, somewhere on this Earth, whose _own skin_ is an enemy. Whose acne covers him like an old friend. Like a fur coat. Like sunshine in a desert. His fingers are long and his feet too big, and he _tries_ to be careful but doesn't always succeed. But he is on this Earth, and he is beautiful. 

There is a girl, somewhere on this Earth, whose eyes shine like silver but whose mind is dark. It's filled with a sadness and can only be seen in a seldom glint in those quicksilver eyes. _She hides it well._ And her lips may spill melodies like nightingales song, but her mind _suffocates_ her under the invisible weight of things and _thoughts_ she cannot run from. But she is on this Earth, and she is beautiful. 

There is a man, somewhere on this Earth, whose fingers can make music and whose mind is sharp as glass. But he is new to this game, he doesn't know how to play the game he's started and it _terrifies_ him. But he is on this Earth, and he is beautiful. 

There is a woman, somewhere on this Earth, whose laugh is like seeing a thousand butterflies take to the skies. She is not new to the game like the man. She's played by its rules for years upon _years_. And sometimes she forgets it's a game and gets too attached and gets hurt. But she is on this Earth, and she is beautiful. 

There is a child, somewhere on this Earth, who doesn't know any words, whose skin is unblemished, whose mind is clear. He hasn't been hurt yet by the world he lives in and sometimes I get jealous, but I know he is new and _I am afraid for him_. But he is on this Earth and he is beautiful. 

There is an old woman, somewhere on this Earth, whose heart is warm like candlelight and whose soul hasn't decided to let go yet. Her memories are _dark_ , they are far too full of blood and screams and tears and fear, but her children know this. They bring memories from another part of the world when they visit, to drown out the loneliness and the eons of pain. And she is on this Earth, and she is beautiful. 

  
  
  


There are humans on this Earth, whose flaws cannot all be seen through one eye. Whose pain can only be seen behind closed doors and under warm sheets in the dead of night. Whose gangly limbs and scattered brains can bring _wars_ and _technology_ and _laughs_ and _screams_ and _tears_. And there are _billions_ of them. Billions of humans with so much potential for change it makes my heart and soul _ache_ for what the future will be like. But they are together, and they are beautiful. 

_ They are trying, and that's all I can ask for.  _


	5. More Poetry About The Sea Cuz It's The Apocalypse But The Sea Remains The Same

Whoever said that the sea could be tamed was a _liar_. You cannot _tame_ the sea. She is _relentless_. She fights endlessly, in a battle she may one day win against the land. She erodes rocks and holds lives in her deep waters. 

She is _kind_. She is a _mother_ , cradling new life inside swirling eddies. Giving birth to soft sand and colorful fish. Steering whales and turtles towards warmer waters. Providing food for hungry sharks and hiding places for clever eels.

The sea is _deep_. The sea is _wide_. She combs through ocean floors with fingers of brine and salt, looking for those who hid from the surface. She does not cast them away from the shore. She holds them close and whispers, _"I like this one"._ Taking in orphans the land did not want. She holds them in dark waters. Where nothing matters but _the fact that they exist_. Living insignificantly under the waves. Showing them crabs as white as snow, and fish as long as cars. Lulling them to sleep in gentle currents of warmth and salt.

But you cannot _tame_ her, and whoever said that the sea could be tamed was a _liar_.


	6. But I'm Only Seventeen

But I’m only seventeen. 

I’m far too young to be the best version of myself. 

Cuz I only know so many words, 

and I can't seem to say what I want to say how I want to say it. 

And I’m only so big, 

I don’t have a loud voice, 

or revolutionary ideas, 

or a prominent figure, 

but I'm trying and mama says that’s okay. 

And sometimes my own mind is an enemy. 

My body may be 70% water, 

and my soul of stardust, 

but sometimes the sea is no home and the stars feel far away. 

But everything has to start somewhere, 

and I haven’t become who I am in a single day, 

and that means that the person I want to be isn’t impossible. 

The moment I think it’s impossible, it  _ is _ impossible. 

Cuz i’m only seventeen. 

I’m far too young to be the best version of myself. 


	7. The Word 'Dream'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I... found this?? In my notebook?? But??? I don't remember writing it????????

I suppose that’s what we associate the word ‘dream’ with. 

With cool colors, 

and stars, 

and gentle breaths of galaxies, 

and fireplaces in winter, 

and sleepy mornings, 

and cups of coffee during the sunrise, 

and sitting quietly with loved ones, 

and gently flowing rivers, 

and quiet nights filled with fireflies. 

  
  


But we also, for some people, associate the word ‘dream’ with darker things. 

Like cold darkness, 

and empty woods, 

and creaky floorboards, 

and angry screaming, 

and gunshots, 

and blood, 

and scared tears, 

and demons, 

and those-that-cannot-be-named, 

and pain, 

and waking up with a scream on your lips, 

and waking up in a cold sweat that makes you need to turn on a light or ten. 

I suppose that’s what you may call ‘dream’,  _ Elysium and Hell sitting side by side.  _


	8. I tore the wings off angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I made a sculpture recently that is supposed to be a seraph, but I had to tear the wings off of other angels to do it

I tore the wings off angels

And I cut myself on broken feathers

Their halos burned my fingers

They’re collars for my demons now

I drank their tears like wine

And chained them to the ground

With wings I flew

With tears I grew

Until the lord came for me

I tore the wings off angels

And used them on my own

They cry, they scream, they beg, they plead

But to the earth they’re chained

They work for me now

Here in the darkest depths

Their god abandoned them when he saw what I had done

They follow’d blindly

And now they follow none

We tear the wings off angels now

And gorge ourselves on screams

Use halos as jewelry

And do our demons deeds

We drink their tears like wine

And spin our fates ourselves

Our wings are theirs

Our wine their tears

The lord can’t touch us here


End file.
